


Just Another Quaint Tradition

by Gilli_ann



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Banter, Fluff and Crack, Innuendo, M/M, Pining, Romantic Comedy, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:51:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4022275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gilli_ann/pseuds/Gilli_ann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is going to participate in Camelot's time-honoured 'Greased Man Chase'. But first he needs to explain the ins and outs of the tradition, as well as the required preparations, to an increasingly gobsmacked Merlin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Quaint Tradition

**Author's Note:**

> The story takes place during canon's season 1.
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters belong to the BBC and Shine. I intend no copyright infringement and make no profit from this.
> 
> Originally posted to my LJ and now being reposted to AO3.

Arthur had ordered Merlin down to the practice field to 'oversee his weapons', even though Merlin had sharpened and polished each item to perfection, and had buckled the prince into his armour before they left the royal chambers.

Maybe his Proudly Pompous Prattishness wanted to show off especially for him, Merlin mused hopefully as he trudged behind Arthur, struggling to carry the prince's spare sword, his mace, helmet, spear and quarterstaff without tripping over his own feet.

All the way down to the field, Arthur's entire backside looked rather smug. Suspiciously smug. It made Merlin wonder what could be afoot. But with the view right in front of him, a firm and pert chainmail-covered challenge to make the best among men or sorcerers stumble, it was nearly impossible to keep walking steadily on. Or to think straight. He'd have to figure out the prince's secret later.

Once they reached the training field, Arthur immediately lost himself among his knights and new recruits.

Merlin plopped down on the bench to the side of the field with a huge sigh of relief, setting up shop for tending to Arthur's weapons and for sharpening any sword that needed a keener edge.

Pretending to be polishing some random bit of armour, Merlin happily turned his thoughts back to where they left off. He didn't object to ogling Arthur's backside. When truth be told, Merlin could think of few better ways to pass his time, but he preferred to do so when he could concentrate properly. Admiring the royal butt while being distracted by having to juggle multiple heavy and dangerously sharp objects was a disaster waiting to happen, and clearly not to be recommended. He was lucky to have escaped unscathed.

He looked up briefly at the first ringing clang of steel against steel. The training had started. Arthur was fighting two of his knights at once, holding them at bay easily even with one arm tied behind his back.

“Oh, the conceited royal show-off!” Merlin muttered admiringly, glancing up towards the battlements, gauging the sun's brightness.

It was a fine, clear spring day, perfect for weapon-practice. Perfect for watching the mock battles from above, too. There would be a spectacular view from the battlements, and many of the court's ladies would be congregating there soon, elbowing each other for the best places.

Merlin settled back on the bench, closed his eyes and smiled fondly into the sun. He felt certain they'd be here for a while. The prince and his men would be eager to prove their skills and strengths to such an appreciative oooohing and aaaahing audience. Just another day in Camelot.

To his surprise though, the training never really took off. Instead Arthur and all the knights assembled at the end of the practice field, away from Merlin. They formed a rowdy group, every man jostling for position. Arthur was lost in the middle among many chainmail-clad torsos.

All of a sudden a loud peal of raucous laughter rose skyward, pulling Merlin to his feet, curiously scanning the group of knights and the field. He could see nothing out of the ordinary.

Arthur extricated himself from the crowd, gesturing back at the knights and shaking his golden sunlit head at them. He moved away purposefully, then turned back briefly to lift an admonishing finger at his knights. All of them whistled, called out and bellowed with laughter.

Merlin did his very best Gaius impersonation, arching an eyebrow inquisitorily as the prince walked up briskly.

Arthur twirled his sword in broad nonchalant arches right and left before dropping it on the bench. He responded to the unspoken question by pulling his gloves off and throwing them without warning in Merlin's direction. His manservant was too busy cocking his head, though – the heavy gloves sailed right on by.

The prince rolled his eyes, grabbed the flask that was ready and waiting for him, and lifted it to his lips. He tipped his head back, closed his eyes and took several long pulls, swallowing the cool liquid in audible gulps.

Merlin stared. Throat movements sometimes could be incredibly mesmerizing.

Eventually Arthur emptied the rest of the water over his head, drops splashing down, sparkling on his lips and chin. Merlin stared some more.

“Well, that's that then,” the prince pronounced loudly. “I just pulled the shortest straw for the Greased Man Chase. Hah! That lot think they'll catch me, but they are sadly mistaken. I'll show them! I'll show everyone! You bet I will!”

Merlin blinked, bewildered. “Of course, Sire. I know you will,” he said automatically. “So, ummm... what is the uh, greased.... man chase anyway?”

Arthur threw him one of his patented lopsided, exasperated grins.

“MERlin! You moron, you never seem to catch on to Camelot customs! Didn't you at least have a greased pig run back in Ealdor? I thought every last little village had one!”

Merlin grimaced, even more confused. But his hopeful subconscious seemed to catch on long before his conscious mind did, and his ears and cheeks turned a hot shade of pink even as his mouth ran away with him.

“No-one at home could afford keeping pigs, except old man Simmons, that is. And he wouldn't have let us........ All the pig chases we had were accidental. Completely. It was never my fault. It was Will! We chased the pigs, and the old man chased us, and it always ended in a mudbath for all. One time, Will ran so fast that he didn't even manage to stop when......Wait! What? Greased human pig? You mean.... You will... you are going to..? Yourself?"

He gaped in utter astonishment. "You can't be serious!”

“Completely serious, Merlin.” Arthur tossed his head defiantly. “It's a very ancient tradition. There's Camelot's Annual Pig Chase celebrated every year, of course, but every ten years one of the best knights is chosen to be chased instead. It's an honour. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And a big challenge, of course. Knights dream of this years in advance, and squires hope against hope to one time rise that high.”

Merlin groaned. Another ridiculous custom and inane tradition that Arthur would feel obliged to risk his royal butt for. Possibly even... his _naked_ royal butt?

Perking up, Merlin eyed the prince speculatively. “And... Sire, as this very honoured man you will..... do what, exactly?”

“Strip down, grease up all over, run like the wind three times round the citadel. Victory is mine if no knight manages to tackle and hold me down before the finishing line. And just you wait. No-one will ever catch me!”

For once, Merlin was speechless. The vision that presented itself, naked and greased, in frantic motion, muscles glistening and with the crown jewels on full, bouncy display, blinded his mind with its radiance. Merlin's eyes went as round as the royal saucers. He spluttered helplessly.

Arthur laughed in his face.  
   
“Don't look so _shocked_ , Merlin. I know you come from a tiny village and have never been out and about much, but really!”  
   
“No, Sire, I mean yes, Sire, I mean, it's just. It's just... isn't it... uh...embarrass... humili... I mean dangerous?”

“Don't be such a _girl_ , Merlin! It's far less dangerous than battling strong knights with swords or lances. Not that you'd know what that feels like. And it's very well worth it!”  
   
Merlin disregarded the usual insults. “What exactly does the victor get, then?”  
   
“Glory, of course!” Arthur made a grand, sweeping gesture, indicating the entire expanse of the royal castle and surrounding village. “A name that goes down in history! Really, Merlin, you're so clueless. Last time it was Sir Sagramore. Managed to elude everyone, even if several men jumped him at once. Got out of their grips as if by magic! I should ask him for pointers.” 

Arthur motioned impatiently. “Help me with the armour, will you?”

Glowing with glee, the prince continued reliving the memories. “Afterwards all the women were wild about him, they do so love a champion and a hero. They were throwing themselves at him. He couldn't go anywhere without whole groups of lovely damsels offering him favours of the most indecent kind."  
   
Merlin's eyes narrowed as he stepped behind Arthur, reaching for the buckles. “I can just imagine.” And he could. He sighed morosely.

Arthur continued, oblivious. «Married to the duke of Deara's daughter now, Sagramore is. Did very well for himself. Yes... for the honour and the glory! I will do the name of Pendragon proud. Father will be pleased.”

Merlin stepped closer, all the better to vanquish those buckles. Arthur smelled strongly of fresh sweat and oiled leather. It reminded Merlin of fights won and festivals in progress, fierce joys and heady excitement. He inhaled appreciatively.

Suddenly a thought struck him. “Did you... Arthur, you didn't actually rig that draw in your own favour, did you?”

Arthur turned as if stung, glowering at him furiously. “Of course not! It was pure chance. Chance, and luck. Merlin, don't insult me! Shut up!”

He was protesting far too much, Merlin realized, suddenly sure of the truth. The Pendragons were all of them mad as hatters under a full moon. This had to be the final proof of that. “Yes, Sire,” he muttered, dropping his eyes.

Arthur faced forward again, huffing. “Indeed. Fate chose me for this. And I will not fail.”

“Well, if this is the glorious victory your immediate future holds in store, I wish you the very best of luck, Sire", Merlin mumbled, not quite managing to keep a tart edge out of his voice.  
   
He tried to make sense of it all. Why was Arthur so intent on this glorified greased mud wrestling? Shouldn't he find it humiliating, flaunting himself in front of everyone in Camelot? They had no business seeing their prince in the buff, anyway. That ought to be his manservant's rightful domain, and no-one else's!

Merlin couldn't help prodding the prince some more, hoping for clarification. “It's clear to me now that it's your _destiny_ to run around the castle stark naked and all greased up, all your knights in hot pursuit. Everyone will be in awe of you.”  
   
Arthur rolled his eyes.“Finally, Merlin. You've got it at last. I was beginning to worry.” 

The prince squared his shoulders and signalled for his manservant to follow along.

“Now shut up and listen carefully, since it's obvious I have to clue you in on _everything_. The Greased Man Festival takes place one week from today. Lots of mead and ale and fun and games. Everyone in the castle and village, and the king and every last knight and squire will be in attendance and in high spirits. Everyone goes wild! No-one would dream of missing out on this. It's the high point of the year!”

He pinned Merlin with a baleful glare. “And yes, I intend to do myself and Camelot proud. They must see their prince prove himself the best man among them. No-one should have the least little hope of catching me. I'll do everything it takes, do you hear me? _everything! _You'll be responsible for preparing me, of course. None of your bumbling and fumbling. Don't slip up if you value your life. Father would have your head!”__

Arthur frowned. “And so would I, once I came out of hiding,” he added pensively.

“Prepare, Sire?” Merlin squawked, disregarding the usual princely threats. He bit his lip, annoyed at the sound of his own high pitched voice. “I'll be preparing you?”

“Yes, MERlin. I need to use every legal trick in the book. And some new ones, if I can think of any. Or if you can. Make yourself useful! My body must be shaved, very closely shaved. All over. And then greased thoroughly down. Every last little bit and part of me must be as wet and slippery as.... as an oiled.... snake, or eel!” 

Arthur lifted his hands and moved them up and down to demonstrate his point, pumping them in the air as if squelching them along something hard, eel-shaped and very slick.

Merlin closed his eyes, feeling strangely light-headed. His ears were transitioning from pink to bright red, he just knew it.

Arthur barrelled on. “You're my manservant, this job falls to you. The morning of the festival you will shave me. And grease me down. It's your simple duty. Do try to plan ahead.”

Merlin's feet simply stopped functioning. He couldn't move. He couldn't help it. Arthur rounded on him, exasperated, but with a gleam in his eyes that Merlin couldn't interpret. Anger? Anticipation? Mischief? Mirth?

“Why are you standing there, looking like a gibbering baby goat? You didn't really think I'd try to shave behind my own bollocks, did you? Risk accidentally making myself the last of the Pendragon line? Not likely!”

Arthur grabbed Merlin's neck, a royal hound shaking an uppity pup by the scruff to teach him some manners, and pushed him ahead impatiently, making him walk in front.

Merlin gurgled and flailed. Shave Arthur's _bollocks_? And behind them? This was insane!

He was practically dripping with sweat. Reaching up, he ripped off his red neckerchief and mopped his brow repeatedly with twitching little motions. He urgently needed to find a secluded spot, somewhere he could be alone and.... make the raggedy red thing even more wet and sticky. Afterwards he'd spell it dry. Business as usual, that. Merlin had long practice by now.

“Hurry up!” Arthur insisted, grinning wolfishly, giving him a little push. “Make sure to sharpen the razors. Get a new batch of good shaving soap. And lots of grease. Ask Gaius which grease I should use for best effect. Don't force me to think of everything myself."

A hard princely finger pushed into the small of Merlin's back. "Use your imagination!”

"Yes, Sire," Merlin muttered. "I'll be doing little else."

   



End file.
